


People Are Loved

by CleanShavenDoctor



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, One-Sided Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Original Character Death(s), Post-Reichenbach, Reichenbach-Related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 22:08:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2484050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleanShavenDoctor/pseuds/CleanShavenDoctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John doesn't know what to say.<br/>He settles on a few simple words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	People Are Loved

I look down at my friend’s gravestone, the dull marble mocking me as it projects the name Sherlock Holmes, assuring me that it is, in fact, him in that grave. I stand, trying to choose the words. The words I have always wanted to say and didn’t have a chance to.   
Well, he was my best friend. Perhaps more. People always seemed to insinuate that. I wish they had been right.   
He was a genius. He was able to just look at someone twice and tell them everything they hate about themselves and crumple them up like a little bit of paper and flick them away. He was machine and brutal and ruthless and had no time for the distractions of people’s fawning. Yet I loved him.   
The world’s only consulting detective. Dead. Killed, not in the cold blood of an enemy, but by himself. People are loved and hearts are broken. That’s how life goes. Though...in the span of Sherlock’s short life, I never actually admitted myself that I loved him. And now I am filled with regret.   
I actually stand and wonder what would have happened had events gone differently. If I had never met him. My limp, apparently psychosomatic. Would I still have it? Would I have anything to my name? I could have been another discarded war veteran because...who would want me for a flatmate. My memory drifts back to that day. The day my life changed. The day I met Sherlock Holmes. Hah! My life could have been so very different.   
I study the gold embossed name, silently begging that they have the wrong Sherlock Holmes, and that my Sherlock Holmes is still alive and well. Though, as he would say, ‘don’t be so stupid’.   
Half an hour before he died I called him heartless. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Why? Because I had been called and told that my landlady had been shot. He refused to come with me to see her. He saw through the lie. She was left intact.   
I just wish I had done more. He told me he was a fake. I don’t believe him. I’ll never believe him.   
I stand here, still pondering what to say...because, quite simply, words can’t portray it. Words can’t portray the sorrow, the self loathing, the anger...the love.   
My world is now hollow. A big chunk taken out. A big, gaping tenebrous hole is left.   
‘Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side.’ He’d say to me. I’m starting to see that now.   
‘All lives end, all hearts are broken.’ And I believe that too.   
So I settle on a few simple words. A few words that portray everything I want to say.   
“Don’t be dead.”   
Little did I know he was watching me the whole time.


End file.
